


The Farm Boy

by Evergreene



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evergreene/pseuds/Evergreene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘He is a farm boy, not a soldier,' said Athos.</p>
<p>Aramis raised an eyebrow. ‘We all had to start somewhere.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Obstacles

**Author's Note:**

> These are a few snippets of my own headcanon that I wanted to put down on paper/computer screen about d'Artagnan's first few weeks with the garrison. I hope you enjoy!

‘He’s young,’ Athos declared as he, Aramis and Porthos strode along the walkway outside Treville’s office, having finished their report on Gaudet and his crimes.

Aramis held his hand over his heart as they clattered down the steps to the darkening courtyard, lit only by the torches set high on the stone walls. ‘Weren’t we all young once?’

‘Some of us still are,’ retorted Porthos, tossing his hat onto the table and taking a seat at one of the long benches.

‘He’s impulsive.’

Aramis shrugged, removing his own hat and running his fingers through his thick hair to loosen it. ‘So am I.’

‘Could be useful in a tricky situation,’ agreed Porthos, tugging a bottle of wine towards him and reaching for a glass.

Athos frowned. ‘Need I remind you both that he did try to kill me?’

‘That’s a point in his favour, I’d say.’

‘Thank you, Porthos. You make a man feel truly valued.’

‘I’m just saying it shows spirit.’

‘It shows stupidity.’

‘Bravery,’ countered Aramis.

‘Rashness.’

‘Honour.’

‘Idiocy. His ribs were cracked – how was he hoping to win that duel?’

‘I think he’d make a good Musketeer,’ declared Porthos, drinking deeply of his wine and draining the glass before setting it down on the table with a decisive thunk.

‘He is a farm boy, not a soldier.’

Aramis raised an eyebrow. ‘We all had to start somewhere.’

Athos paused, then shook his head. ‘No. Absolutely not.’

And that was all he would say.


	2. Excuses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment or kudos and I hope you enjoy the next snippet. :)

Halfway to the armoury the next morning, Athos stopped short, causing Porthos to let out a loud curse as he banged into him from behind.

‘I don’t believe him,’ Athos muttered under his breath.

Porthos came to stand beside him, rubbing at his shoulder, and together they watched Aramis approach, his steps light and as annoyingly cheerful as he was every morning.

Drawing to a halt, Aramis raised his hat to them. ‘Good morning, my friends. A fine day, don’t you think?’

Athos looked at him stonily.

‘What?’ Aramis objected.

Wordlessly, Athos flicked his gaze towards d’Artagnan, who had trailed into the garrison on Aramis’ heels and come to a halt behind him, looking with interest at the early morning activity – the stableboys grooming the horses, the men sitting round the main table, sharing stories of their evening’s conquests, and their more energetic comrades already embarking on the day’s training.

Aramis glanced behind him. ‘Oh, that,’ he said, as if just remembering d’Artagnan was there. ‘He followed me home.’

Deciding it was in his best interest to ignore Porthos’ snort of laughter, Athos grit his teeth. ‘He’s a boy, not a pup.’ He turned to address d’Artagnan, but the youth was intent upon two Musketeers battling each other on the other side of the courtyard, their swords ringing clear in the morning air.

‘That one’s grip is wrong,’ d’Artagnan observed offhandedly, leaning forwards to speak to Aramis, who clapped a hand on his companion’s lean shoulders before turning to Athos expectantly.

‘So, can we keep him?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a few more chapters stewing, involving cats, cards and clapping amongst other things, so they'll be posted as they come together. Thank you for reading!


	3. The Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this in celebration of a certain season 2 trailer that has just been released. *twirls happily* Enjoy!

Athos first started to think they might have erred in taking on d’Artagnan when he saw the boy carrying a tiny black kitten into the garrison stables – not under his arm, as would any normal person, but with it riding on his shoulder.

He frowned. The garrison had its fair share of cats to be sure, yet they were solitary creatures … and far less fluffy than the one he had just seen. Still, he supposed, d’Artagnan would be doing no harm if he wanted to rear a lone cat.

The sight of Madame Bonacieux hurrying across the courtyard a week later with a sizable saucer of milk in her hands gave him cause for greater concern, however, so he decided to sample the opinions of his friends.

Aramis, ever one for intrigue, raised his eyebrows when questioned. ‘How on earth would I know that d’Artagnan has a cat?’ he said in reply. ‘All I know is that I was requested to bring one of my softest shirts to the garrison, and that a ball of string would be particularly appreciated. A strange request, to be sure, but I thought it harmless enough.’ He stood up from the bench he was sitting on, dusting off his hat. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’m off to visit a certain feline friend of mine.’

Porthos was blunter. ‘D’Artagnan’s got himself a little cat. Tell anyone and I’ll punch your lights out.’

Deciding it to be in his best interests to remain silent on the matter, Athos held his tongue, at least until he was called to Treville’s office some weeks later. He stood before his captain, his hat in his hands, and sent up a quick prayer to a god he was not sure was listening that he had not been summoned to explain why most members of the garrison had started stowing fish in their saddlebags.

Treville eyed him from across the desk. ‘What is your opinion of that boy you’ve been training - d’Artagnan?’

Athos breathed a silent sigh of relief. ‘He is headstrong, impulsive and proud to a fault.’

‘Would he make it as a Musketeer?’

‘There is no doubt in my mind.’

Treville was silent a moment, then pushed up from his desk and gestured to Athos to follow him out the door and onto the balcony that overlooked the courtyard, where d’Artagnan could be seen duelling with Aramis. They had both stripped to their shirts, breeches and boots despite the winter chill, and Porthos was standing to the side, offering advice and insults interchangeably. Treville gazed down at the scene for a moment, then said without looking at Athos, ‘He’s good with a sword.’

‘I’ve rarely seen his better.’

Treville nodded slowly. ‘And the cat?’

Athos cleared his throat. ‘Cat?’

‘Don’t be a fool, Athos.’

He decided it was best to come clean. ‘From what I gather, d’Artagnan rescued it.’

‘From?’

‘From boys who thought it entertaining to tie a stone to its tail and find out if it would still float.’

Treville’s jaw shifted. ‘When was this?’

‘Is it suffice to say the cat was once a kitten?’

Treville took this in. ‘And he’s been hiding it here ever since?’

Athos nodded, and finally Treville did too, short and sharp.

‘Bring him to my office. If he’s managed to inspire enough loyalty in my men that not one of you has told me about that damn cat, he’s a man I want under my command.’

Athos touched the brim of his hat. ‘Sir.’

‘And Athos?’

‘Yes, Captain?’

‘Tell d’Artagnan that we’re always in need of a good mouser.’

‘I was planning to, sir.’

Treville eyed him narrowly. ‘I’ve always known about the cat, Athos.’

‘I never doubted it, sir.’

And Athos left the balcony to find d’Artagnan, deliberating whether to tell Treville about the puppy.


	4. Beginner's luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing-fu has completely disappeared, so I'm so sorry for the wait on any of my other stories. I am chipping away at new chapters but am finding it a bit of a struggle to pull them together. Hopefully this, which is something much lighter, might help kick my brain into gear! I really hope you enjoy it and please do let me know your thoughts as any encouragement would be a huge help! Thank you also to everyone has reviewed and left kudos so far on this story so far.

‘This is cruel, Porthos,’ Aramis informed him, tilting his chair back easily and stretching his legs out towards the crackling warmth of the tavern fire.

With a glance at him, Porthos returned his attention to shuffling the well-worn deck of cards in his hands before starting to deal them out. ‘No one’s forcing him to play.’

‘You’ll cheat d’Artagnan out of house and home if you don’t take care. He’ll be starving on the streets before we know what’s happened to him, and then you will have to answer to the Captain.’

‘Nonsense,’ Porthos retorted. ‘All he’s gotta do is use those eyes of his and Constance’ll feed him up until he’s fit to bursting.’ He swivelled round on his bench, surveying the bustling tavern. ‘Where’s d'Artagnan gone, anyhow?’

‘To buy the next round.’

‘Aha!’ Porthos thumped a jubilant hand on the table, rattling the glasses on it. ‘I knew there was a reason we took him under our wing!’

Aramis chuckled but Athos, sitting by himself at the next table, shook his head. ‘I have known Madame Bonacieux for some years now. Mark my words, she will take great pleasure in turning d’Artagnan onto the streets if she hears he’s lost his money at cards.’

Porthos smirked evilly. ‘We’d all best keep our mouths shut then.’

Reaching out, Athos picked up the glass of wine sitting on the table before him and raised it to his lips. ‘Or else you could take pity on d'Artagnan,’ he said, taking a sip.

‘And why would I do that? I’ve won every game I’ve played against the lad.’

‘That’s because you are cheating.’

Porthos shrugged. ‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.’

Over by the fire, Aramis snorted. ‘At least until Madame Bonacieux chases him down the street with her broom.’

Porthos just chuckled as d’Artagnan returned, carrying a fresh bottle of wine which he set down onto the wooden table before leaning towards Porthos. ‘That man over there – he wants to speak with you. Something about some money you owe him…?’

Porthos grimaced. ‘Right, I’d forgot about that. Give me a moment, then we’ll have another game, yeah?’

Pushing himself to his feet, he headed towards the back of the tavern, handing his deck of cards to d’Artagnan as he went. Accepting them, d’Artagnan slid into his own seat and began to flick idly though the cards before placing them face-down on the table.

Out of d’Artagnan’s sight, Aramis and Athos exchanged a look, then Aramis leant forwards, letting his chair fall squarely to the floor as he cast a swift glance over his shoulder to make sure that Porthos was not in hearing.

‘D’Artagnan,’ he started carefully, once he was satisfied that Porthos was sufficiently distracted by the large man currently brandishing his fists at him. ‘Although we have not known each other very long, I feel it my duty to warn you of something. You know that Porthos is cheating when he plays you?’

D’Artagnan glanced up at him. ‘I know,’ he said lightly.

Aramis stared at him, then at Athos, who returned his look, his expression giving nothing away. ‘You… know?’ Aramis said finally.

D’Artagnan casually levelled the cards on the table, divided them in two and began to shuffle, his fingers flashing quickly as the cards flicked past each other so fast they were almost a blur. ‘Of course.’ The corners of his mouth curved upwards. ‘You see, the more he wins, the more Porthos raises his bet. So, I wait for him to raise it beyond when he can afford, and then…’ His smile grew into a full-fledged, teeth-flashing grin that reached all the way to his brown eyes. ‘He’ll be the one fleeing from Constance’s broom.’

Lost for words, Aramis looked to Athos once more, but Athos simply raised an eyebrow at him and turned back to his drink, clearly deciding not to become involved. Left to his own devices, Aramis returned to watching d’Artagnan, who had started to shuffle the cards so swiftly it was impossible to keep track of them.

He shook his head. ‘How on this good earth did you learn to play like that?’ he asked curiously. ‘Was it your father?’

‘Father?’ D’Artagnan huffed a laugh. ‘No. Father barely knew what a pack of cards was. He wouldn’t have been impressed at all to see me playing like this.’

‘How then? An uncle? Or perhaps one of your farmhands?’

‘My mother.’

‘Of course,’ echoed Aramis. He sat back and rubbed a hand at the back of his head, loosening the curls there. ‘Why did I not think of that?’

D’Artagnan shrugged, then nodded towards the back of the tavern. ‘Porthos is on his way back,’ he said, straightening up on his bench. He sent Aramis a hopeful look. ‘Might I ask for your silence in this…?’

Aramis placed a hand over his heart. ‘You have my word,’ he promised, and was rewarded with a wink as d'Artagnan turned away to welcome Porthos back to the table with a guileless grin.

With a shake of his head, Aramis leant towards Athos. ‘They’re as bad as each other,’ he commented, making sure to keep his voice low.

Athos shrugged and reached over to pick up the bottle of wine d’Artagnan had brought them. ‘It will do Porthos good to lose for a change.’

Aramis nodded. ‘Especially to a farm boy,’ he added, and they both pretended not to see d’Artagnan’s carefully-hidden smirk as he began to deal his cards onto the table once more.


End file.
